


drabbles, prompts, and other shorts

by cosmicbees



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, pertinent tags in chapter summaries!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-01 00:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbees/pseuds/cosmicbees
Summary: an amalgamation of tumblr prompts, drabbles, and other miscellaneous goods. multi-ship. probably unedited.currently: 'things you said' prompts from tumblr.10. sheith - things you said that made me feel like shit“Your uniform needs to be pressed, cadet,” Shiro scolds, tugging on the edge of Keith’s collar where it’s creased and wrinkled, and fighting back the smile that threatens to curl across his face at Keith’s affronted glare.“Good morning to you, too,” he grumbles, but reaches out to pull at a chunk of hair that has fallen into Shiro’s line of sight, “your hair is too long for regulation, officer.”“They can’t make me cut it when I’m on Kerberos,” Shiro laughs, ruffling his hand across Keith’s head, “I might as well get a head start.”





	1. jeith, a kiss because the world is saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: 41 jeith/jaith (still don’t know which lol) for the fic prompt please!
> 
> 41: a kiss because the world is saved.

The hospital room Keith is kept in after the fall is bright, sunshiney, and warm, draped in hues of beige and a soft yellow-gold. James sits on the fringes, folded into the bay window with his feet tucked beneath him, watching as visitors come and go. Officers, nurses, and eventually a couple of the other Paladins file in to hover over his sleeping figure. 

The only constants in the room are Keith’s mother, Shirogane, and himself. The other two position themselves on the edge of Keith’s bed, murmuring in hushed tones while James observes silently. 

He becomes familiar with them. Keith’s mother--she introduces herself as Krolia--is kind, and she looks  _ so much  _ like Keith that James is surprised that Keith looks more human than Galra. She is patient with the doctors who offer only vague prognoses, but firm when she disagrees with their proposals. Shirogane, who insists that James call him Shiro, works in tandem with her. Together they champion for Keith’s recovery, and monitor each and every one of the medications that the nurses administer. Keith occasionally stirs, but he doesn’t wake. 

It’s been over a week, and Keith still hasn’t come to. 

James is silent for the duration of it. He speaks only when spoken to, preoccupied by the worry gnawing at the back of his head. He sleeps with his face pressed to the glass of the window for the first couple of days, until Krolia wakes him with a gentle hand, and tells him to “go home, get some rest.” When he tries to protest, she silences James with a wave of her hand, and hands him her personal comm tablet instead, with an open contact screen. “I’ll let you know if he wakes,” she promises. 

After that, Krolia, James, and Shiro stand watch in shifts. They rotate in and out of the room, trying to balance official work for the Garrison, and occasional missions chasing out the remaining Galra cells with keeping an eye on Keith. 

Two weeks. Keith still sleeps. 

The message from Krolia arrives on James’s comm sometime around mid-morning, while James is in the middle of a training exercise.  _ ‘He’s up’ _ it reads.

James doesn’t receive that message until well past midnight, when he and the other pilots return to the Garrison, battered, bruised and exhausted. He barely registers the alert on the screen before he’s bounding across the open tarmac, his team forgotten behind him. 

He skids to a halt just outside of the door for Keith’s room, and looks inside. Shiro and Krolia are both standing over him, watching, whispering. They look over their shoulder at him and Krolia lets out a little smile. 

“How is he?” James asks, gripping tight to the doorframe beside him. He can hear the shakiness in his voice, curses himself for it, but can’t stop it from happening.  

“He’s been in and out all day,” Shiro says and there’s a gentleness to the way he looks back down at where Keith is curled up, “he hasn’t been fully...present. The doctors said it’s good progress though, so we’re hopeful.” 

James nods, and takes a half-step into the room. He glances at his usual corner, unsure whether he should position himself up against the window, or if he’d be welcome around Keith’s bed with Krolia and Shiro. Krolia must pick up on his hesitancy, because she casts a sympathetic glance his way before muttering something to Shiro, and pushing him towards the door.

“Take care of him,” She murmurs as she passes James, dipping her head low, “call if you need anything.” 

And then James is alone, pulling a chair up beside Keith’s bed, and settling in with his head between his hands.

It’s near dawn before Keith even stirs. It’s minute, so small that if James hadn’t been watching Keith through tired eyes for hours, trying to memorize the way his lashes flutter in sleep, he wouldn’t have noticed. 

“James?” The words are barely above a whisper, and rough like paper when Keith speaks. 

“Keith,” James replies, scooting his chair in closer to Keith, as close as he can be without physically climbing into bed beside him, “hey Keith.” 

Keith’s head is turned towards James, and he looks…pitiful. His eyes are glazed over, hazy from painkillers, but he’s still beautiful, somehow hair a frizzy, black halo around him. James leans forward, to rest his cheek on the edge of the bed. 

“James,” Keith sighs, “you’re okay.” 

“Yeah,” James can’t help but laugh, but its breathless, quiet, “so are you.” 

“Is everyone okay?” there’s a beat of silence while Keith grits his teeth against some unknown pain, “the paladins?” 

James reaches a hand out to push hair out from in front of Keith’s eyes, “yes, everyone is safe, Keith.” 

Keith blinks at him, and says, “come here.” He tugs at James’s hand, trying to beckon him closer, “I’m cold.”

He hesitates, briefly, but Keith tugs again, more insistent, and James clambers into bed beside him. Keith pulls the bedcovers up, up, over their heads, until they’re both completely covered in a mass of blankets, legs tangled together. The already dim lights of the room are filtered into tiny specks. James is briefly reminded of the blanket forts he’d built as a child, entirely made of warmth and safety. 

“You’re safe,” Keith says again, “we’re safe. Everyone’s safe.”

“Yeah babe,” James says, a syrupy warmth settling into his bones, “you saved the world.”

“The world is safe,” Keith singsongs. His words are starting to slur together now, but he tilts his face closer to James’s imploringly. 

“The world is safe,” James confirms, lips pressed to Keith’s forehead. Keith huffs, a bit indignant but mostly weak, and James chuckles before feathering a flurry of kisses across Keith’s face. When their lips finally meet, Keith lets out a contented sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

James falls asleep with Keith’s nose pressed against his neck, and the warmth and stick of Keith’s skin against his own. This, he decides, is deserved. Here, the world is safe, and so is he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


	2. sheith, a kiss in grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [the-black-paladins](http://the-black-paladins.tumblr.com/) asked: uhhhhhh sheith in no.12 pls
> 
> 12: a kiss in grief. 
> 
>  
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!**
> 
> that being said, i rushed through the end cause it made me sad so like...sorry

Shiro watches Keith rise as the Black Paladin. He tracks his growth into the person, the leader, the man Shiro had always hoped he would become. His impatience and impulsiveness transform into a calm, commanding presence at the head of Voltron that grounds the team. Keith learns to respect the other Paladins, and they respect him in turn, and Shiro’s heart swells with pride to see him flourish. 

Shiro watches Keith fall as the Black Paladin. He listens over the comms as Keith encourages his team, sees the moment they accept the inevitability of death, watches the explosion that knocks the lions from the sky, and scatters them thousands of miles apart. Shiro’s heart breaks with Black’s impact. 

The moments before and after are a blur of panic, hot and tempestuous in his chest as the bile rises in his throat. The comms are alight the second the enemy mech detonates while Garrison officials attempt to track the movement of the earthbound lions. Shiro knows he’s contributing to the din, begging for “Keith, Allura, Pidge,  _ anyone _ ,” to respond. 

No response comes. 

The comms are faulty, maybe. The lions are disabled, probably. The paladins aren’t conscious, definitely. 

When Black hits, the impact rattles through the surrounding earth--Shiro isn’t near enough to the landing sight to feel it himself, but the collision registers on their sensors. The same thing happens with each of the five lions. Allura lands within several miles of the Garrison, but the others have been cast to the far corners of the continent. The MFEs are dispatched to retrieve the Paladins, and Shiro barely has time to dock the Atlas before the orders are given, begging his way into Griffin’s spare seat when he’s assigned to Keith.

The MFEs are fast. Faster than anything Shiro had ever flown himself when he was at the Garrison, but it’s not fast enough. He grits his teeth against the tremor in his bones, and the nausea that threatens to overtake him, and focuses his attention on the back of James’s head instead. The journey takes 23 minutes, and Shiro’s gut chants  _ 23 minutes too long _ , over and over. 

Black’s jaw is slack, laying open as though in wait when they arrive, but it’s eerily quiet. No mechanical whirring, no sounds from the forest around them, nothing. 

Shiro can’t breathe, frozen where he stands. 

_ 23 minutes too long.  _

“Can we get in?” James asks after a moment, and its enough to jolt Shiro into action.

The Black Lion is dormant, completely inactive, leaving the inside of the ship dark. Shiro can only hear the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears as he bounds through Black, his footsteps echoing across the metal floors.

Shiro has seen the universe in the Black Lion, has seen stars, solar systems, entire  _ galaxies _ that he’d never thought he’d see. He has lived, loved,  _ died _ in the Black Lion. He’s gone to war and seen death, experienced death, and delivered death himself. 

None of that could have prepared him for what he finds inside the cockpit. It’s almost equally as dim in there, with the only respite from the dark being little slivers of light filtering in through the lion’s eyes. Keith’s form is motionless where he sits.

_ 23 minutes too long. _

“Keith,” Shiro says, and the words are barely above a whisper, rough like sandpaper in his throat. 

Silence. 

“ _ Keith _ ,” Shiro repeats, louder this time as he takes a step closer

Still, no answer. 

_ 23 minutes too long.  _

In a panic he rounds the edge of the pilot’s seat, and falls to his knees before it. Keith’s body is limp against the restraints, slumped forward in his seat with his helmet discarded beside him. Shiro watches him, searching for a flutter of his eyes as Shiro speaks his name, looking for the rise and fall of his shoulders, but Keith is completely still.

There’s blood matted into the hair on the side of Keith’s head, a line of blood dripping from the side of his mouth, blood on his armor,  _ everywhere. _ It’s on Shiro’s armor where he pulls Keith’s body to his own, and his hands, and in his eyes when he presses his face into the crook of Keith’s neck. His body is warm still, but there’s no pulse. 

_ 23 minutes too long. _

Shiro tries to ignore the taste of blood against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


	3. jeith, a kiss out of spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [supernovaecastaway](http://supernovaecastaway.tumblr.com/) asked: Oh girl, gimme that Jeith #47, that sounds fun
> 
> 47: A kiss out of spite!

Keith wakes to a buzzing beside his head. It is low, but insistent, and he reaches over to where his comm tablet is plugged in beside his bunk, groping blindly through the dark for a moment before he makes contact with it. It takes his eyes a moment to fully process the name on the illuminated screen before he huffs, and shoves it beneath his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut again. 

It’s silent for a few blessed seconds before it begins going off again, and this time Keith can’t ignore the incessant buzzing under his ear. He barely has the screen in front of his face before he spits, “what do you  _ want _ , Griffin?” 

“It’s great to see you too, babe,” James quips back, a smile peeking out from the edge of the screen.

Keith sighs, and scrubs his hand across his face, wiping sleep from his eyes, “It might be great to see you if I weren’t in the middle of a night cycle.” 

James hums, ostensibly in agreement, before he drops his voice low, excitement coursing through the words, “we just received word that the mission was successful.”

“That’s why you’re calling?” Keith blinks slow, “to tell me about a mission  _ that I led? _ ” 

“No,” James scoffs, but Keith can still see the flush rising in his cheeks despite the poor video quality, “I called to see if you were coming home now.” 

“In the middle of a night cycle.” 

“How was I supposed to know? It’s broad daylight here!” James exclaims. Keith is thoughtful for a moment, before he ends the call without a word. 

The screen lights back up within an instant, and Keith answers it with a groan, “Can you let me sleep for Christ’s sake, James?” 

“Nope,” James says simply, and Keith opens his mouth to respond when James cuts him off, “Not until you know that I love you.” 

The call ends and Keith bolts upright in his bunk, narrowly avoiding knocking his head. His call in return is declined. So is the one after that. And again after that. He shoots a quick message to James,  _ ‘I can’t believe you!’  _

He receives no answer, however, just an indication that the message has been read. 

 

*****

 

Keith spends the next two days pacing around Black, unable to sleep. He ignores the other paladins when they try to reach him over the comms, and ignores the ache deep in his heart at the radio silence between him and James.

When they finally arrive back on Earth, the Lions are met by their standard welcoming committee--a group of officers and senior cadets waiting on the landing pad for the impending debrief. Shiro is at the forefront as always, accompanied by a gaggle of cadets, Iverson, and of course, James.

Keith pushes his way past Shiro’s bright smile, moving like a storm through the gathered crowd, and stops mere inches from James’s face, “Who do you think you are? I haven’t slept in  _ two  _ days, James.”

“Welcome back, Lieutenant Kogane,” James snaps into a salute, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Successful mission, I expect, Sir?” 

“Don’t you dare,” Keith hisses, and steps forward, fisting his hand in the front of James’s uniform jacket to haul him in. 

James splutters a bit, and wraps a hand around Keith’s wrist, trying to pry him off. A wicked idea crosses Keith’s mind, born from bitterness, exhaustion, and spite, and he leans in, pressing a bruising kiss into James’s mouth.

In an instant, James is writhing against him, working to free himself from Keith’s grasp. Keith relishes in the struggle for a moment before he releases the other man, and takes a step back. 

“Really, Keith?” he exclaims, eyes wild, “In front of everyone?”

Keith can’t help the smirk on his face anymore than he can help the flippant salute he falls into when he says, “Successful mission, indeed. I love you too, Lieutenant Griffin.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


	4. sheith, a kiss without motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Sheith and "without a motive", please?
> 
> 37: a kiss without motive

Shiro wakes on a lazy weekday morning to find Keith wrapped around him in bed. His arm is draped across Shiro’s torso, with one leg hitched up high on his hip, heavy and warm against Shiro’s skin where his shirt has been rucked up. Keith’s face is tucked into Shiro’s collarbone, and his mouth is open just enough that Shiro can feel the push and pull of his breath as it fans across his neck. 

Shiro is hot, tangled in sheets and skin and it takes him a moment to remember that they’re back in the desert, back in the shack that Keith had shown him years ago. The morning sun filtering in through the windows is a far reach from the climate controlled artificial days and nights of the castleship, or the night cycles he and the others had grown accustomed to on the journey back to earth in the lions, but it feels right. Here with Keith wrapped around him in a bed of their choosing, with early morning light throwing golden streaks across exposed skin, this feels like home. 

It’s the first time Shiro has felt at home in years. 

He reaches up with the hand that’s not trapped beneath Keith’s weight and brushes a stray lock of hair from Keith’s face. He looks so young, so at peace with his features smoothed over by sleep that it threatens to take Shiro’s breath away, and a memory stirs deep in his chest, something he’d tucked deep into the recesses of his heart years ago.

*

_ It’s the night before the Kerberos launch, somewhere in the desert, and he and Keith are both younger, brighter,  happier  than Shiro can remember them having been in years. Keith is laughing at something silly, something insignificant, and Shiro wishes desperately he could still recall what that was now. Keith hands a half empty bottle of champagne to him, and leans back on his elbows to tilt his face to the sprawling night sky.  _

_ “Maybe next time I see you, we’ll both be among the stars,” He says _

_ “Yeah,” Shiro agrees, and realizes only then that Keith’s eyes are closed, the moonlight casting long shadows across his face, “we belong up there.” _

_ “Together?”  _

_ Shiro nods, eyes still fixed to Keith’s profile, “together.”  _

*

A little puff of breath and Keith shifting under his touch pulls Shiro back to the present. Keith is still sprawled across him, but his eyes are peeking open now, looking at Shiro blearily.

“Hi,” Shiro breathes, pushing Keith’s hair back out of his face entirely, “it’s nice to see you.” 

Keith presses his face into Shiro’s sternum and mumbles something unintelligible into it, mouth moving warm against Shiro’s skin. He’s a mess in the mornings, eyes puffy from sleep and hair sticking out in every direction, and Shiro can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest anymore than he can help the rush of affection that rises with it. 

Keith glares up at him with knitted eyebrows, “what?” 

Shiro shakes his head, eyes cast to the ceiling, and tugs at a lock of Keith’s hair, “your hair’s gotten so long.” It’s not an answer, exactly, but it’s the best he can offer right now. “Remember when Iverson used to threaten to cut it for you?” 

“That was years ago,” Keith huffs, “‘sides, I thought you liked it.” 

“I do,” Shiro says, “I always have.” 

They’re silent for a long while after that, and Shiro closes his eyes to the morning sunlight while he runs his fingers lazily through Keith’s hair. Keith murmurs little words of endearment from where his cheek is pressed to Shiro’s heartbeat, and eventually Shiro’s movement stills, his breathing growing deeper, slower as sleep threatens to overtake him again.

Keith considers his next move carefully, pressing a kiss to the underside of Shiro’s jaw. It’s enough to rouse Shiro from the brink of sleep, and he places another kiss beside his first. 

“Good morning,” Shiro says, wrapping an arm around Keith’s waist to haul him in closer,

“Morning,” Keith replies, pressing a kiss against the tip of Shiro’s nose. 

“What’s gotten into you today?” Shiro cocks his head, a small smile blooming on his face. 

“Nothing,” Keith leans in and presses his lips against Shiro’s, “It’s just a Wednesday,” another kiss, soft and slow “and I love you,” another, and Shiro sighs against Keith’s mouth, content,  “and I’m glad we’re here on earth,” another, of course, always, “together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


	5. jeiro, a kiss as a suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [supernovaecastaway](http://supernovaecastaway.tumblr.com/) asked: Imma ask for another cuz I'm greedy and your writing makes me happy, but feel free to ignore XD Let's uh, let's go OT3 Shiro/Keith/James and #20 OR #27. The choice is yours :3
> 
> I chose #27 because [belovedsheith](http://belovedsheith.tumblr.com/) asked: (also oh snap uhh if you're still taking kiss prompts... sheith #27?)
> 
> so i uhhhh consolidated because im weak
> 
> 27: a kiss as a suggestion

Shiro traces a feather-light touch down James’s back, fingers following his spine from the base of his skull to the small of his back, where Keith’s hand is already resting possessively, palm pressed into the flesh there. Shiro stops his hand just above Keith’s, a knowing smile creeping across his face at the way James’s body tenses under his touch. 

“You guys are dicks,” James grits out, leaning forward to bury his face into his hands, narrowly avoiding knocking over his drink as his elbows settle on the tabletop, “I hope you know that.” 

Keith laughs, and leans in to murmur something, lips brushing against James’s ear. He jerks upright, and a scarlet flush begins to creep into his face. Shiro reaches up with his free hand, and brushes his fingertips across James’s cheek bone where the color has settled most vividly, a bright, garish pink against pale skin.

He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed and Shiro barely catches a flash of something he can’t identify in Keith’s eyes before the other man is lunging forward, the hand he’d had positioned high on James’s thigh flying up to grab his face.

“H-hey--” James barely has time to stutter out a protest before Keith’s lips are pressed against his, capturing the words with an open mouth. Shiro leans back in his seat, watching as Keith’s mouth moves desperately against James’s, pressing forward, closer,  _ in _ until James is a mess of ruffled hair and soft, vulnerable noises beneath him. Shiro glances over his shoulder, briefly taking in the near-empty bar behind him, and says a silent prayer of thanks for the dark corner they occupy. 

When he turns his attention back to the other two men, he finds that Keith has thrown a leg over James, straddling his lap, and his calf presses a warm, solid line against Shiro’s thigh. Keith leans forward, pushing James back against the sticky vinyl booth, and runs his thumb across the swell of James’s bottom lip.

“Play nice, Keith,” Shiro admonishes, but there’s no bite to his words. Keith pulls away with a smirk, and drags his fingers along James’s jawline, tilting his face towards Shiro. James offers him a lazy blink through hazy, glazed-over eyes, a little smile tugging at the corner of kiss-bitten red lips.

“He’s not having a bad time,” Keith insists, head cocked to the side. 

“I’m really not,” James nods, words slurring together ever so slightly, “this is good.” 

Shiro leans in close to James at that, locking eyes with a slow blink before James is kissing him. It’s languid, and Shiro is methodical in the way he presses himself into James’s space, determined to take him apart piece by piece as Keith watches, elbows propping him up against the table. 

“Good?” Shiro murmurs into James’s mouth. 

“Yeah,” James responds, punch-drunk and unhurried, leaning in for another kiss, “this is nice.” 

Shiro moves to press his lips to the corner of James’s mouth, his cheek, a spot just under his jaw, before he bites into the exposed skin at the junction of his neck and collarbone, drawing a sharp gasp from James. He laves a broad stroke of his tongue over the affected area, sliding his hand to the base of James’s skull, and cards his fingers through the short hair there, reveling in the little satisfied sound that spills from his parted lips. 

“Shiro,” Keith’s words are pleading, pitched barely above a whisper. Shiro’s eyes shoot up Keith’s face, but he keeps his teeth and tongue affixed to a spot just center-right of James’s pulse. Keith looks on for a beat before letting out a sound that borders on a low, breathless whine, and reaches for Shiro’s face to tug him up, biting his way into Shiro’s mouth like he’s starving. 

Shiro’s dazed, drunk on cheap beer and Keith’s tongue, slick and hot against his own, His entire body burns with it, desire coursing through his veins when James’s lips ghost across his ear, Keith’s mouth still ravenous as he trails his way across Shiro’s jaw.

“So good,” Shiro breathes as Keith bites at a spot just below his ear, “You’re both so good.” 

“We can be ever better for you,” James murmurs against Shiro’s temple, pulling a hum of agreement from Keith, “if you wanna come back to mine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


	6. sheith - retail au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i needed to write this for myself
> 
> consider this a catharsis of every bad day i've ever had at work

“What do you mean I can’t do the return? I shop here all the time!” 

Shiro holds back a groan, and drops his eyes back to the screen in front of him where  _ ‘RETURN DECLINED’ _  flashes back at him in bold black letters. He forces himself to take a deep breath in, out, in, before he looks back up to the man in front of him, holding out the little receipt that the printer spits out, “I’m sorry sir, the computer has declined your return, but it doesn’t tell us why. If you want to know more, you can call the--” 

“I know the computer won’t let me do the return,” he spits, leaning across the counter and waving the slip of paper in Shiro’s face. Shiro blinks slow, and redirects his gaze to where a line has begun to form.  _ Great. _ “but why won’t  _ you _ let me do the return?” 

“I’m not responsible for returns, sir,” Shiro replies simply, looking back at the man-- _ angry client number twelve _ , Shiro decides to call him, “all non-receipted returns are processed through a third-party system, If you’d like to know why they’ve chosen to decline the return, you can call the number on that receipt and they’ll let you kn--” 

“I shop here all the time! I’m part of your membership program!” Number Twelve’s voice has risen to the point of yelling, and Shiro knows somewhere, deep down inside that he isn’t being paid enough to put up with this.

_ Everyone is _ , Shiro thinks. “I understand, sir,” is what he says instead, hoping that the grimace his face is pulled into seems sympathetic, consoling, rather than condescending, “unfortunately, I can’t--” 

“I’d like to speak to your manager!” 

_ First time I’ve heard that,  _ he blinks, “Of course, let me grab them for you.” 

Shiro has barely begun to reach for the radio microphone that is clipped to his shirt when Number Twelve slams a hand down on the counter and snaps, “You’re fucking  _ worthless. _ ” 

He’s so tired.

“Can I get a manager to cashwrap please?” Shiro says into his headpiece at the same time that someone new speaks. 

“Dude, lay the fuck off,” The man that steps out of line to confront him looks a bit bored with the whole situation. Shiro bites back a satisfied smirk, and trains his expression into something neutral instead when Number Twelve spins on a heel to face the young man who spoke up, “he’s literally just doing his job.” 

“He’s doing a shitty job, then.” 

“Please,” Shiro closes his eyes for just a second as he speaks into the headset again, “please can I get a manager to cashwrap.” 

Number Twelve looks back towards Shiro, and points a finger accusingly, “You should be fired!”

_ Please. _

_ Fire me.  _

_ Release me.  _

“He’s a cashier,” New Guy deadpans, shrugging. He’s slender enough that Shiro almost doesn’t notice the movement in the oversized hoodie he is wearing, “his job is to tell you that you’re not allowed to return things without a receipt.” 

“How can I help you?” the arrival of Shiro's manager cuts Number Twelve off before he can retaliate, redirecting his attention back to the register. 

“This dipshit won’t--” 

“It’s a fucking fifteen dollar shirt, man,” New Guy isn’t done yet, pushing his dark hair back from his face, and some distant part of Shiro realizes that he’s cute,  _ really  _ cute, even when his face is pinched into a sneer, “are you that tight on cash? I’ll give you twenty bucks to just  _ fuck off _ .” 

The events of next ten seconds happen so quickly, that Shiro is sure he missed something somewhere along the line. In a matter of moments, Number Twelve takes a step towards New Guy, shouting something that Shiro can’t hear through the white noise that erupts in his ears. 

His manager raises a hand in an attempt to placate the two men, but it’s to no avail, as Number Twelve reaches up to push at New Guy, and is met by a solid right hook that drops him straight to the floor. New Guy shakes his fist out, brows furrowed as he examines the damage to his hand. 

Shiro’s manager vaults across the counter, the three people in line rush forward, and time seems to slow down, comical almost in the way that Shiro’s gaze finds New Guy’s. He cocks his head at Shiro, and it feels like a bad movie. A bad rom-com.

Maybe it is, because the first words that tumble out of Shiro’s open mouth are, “holy shit. _M_ _arry me._ ” 

New Guy blinks, amusement and shock dancing across his face in turns before he settles into a toothy grin, “let’s try dinner first. I’m Keith.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> need me a freak like that tbh
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


	7. jeith - two years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all want some....lowkey angst jeith??? here i am....to deliver it.......

Two years on from the Galra occupation of Earth, and Keith still wakes in the middle of the night, shaking and covered in a cold sweat far too often. Two years on, and he still bolts upright in bed with a choked-off cry, trying to blink back tears that fall anyway. Two years on and James still sits beside him, pressing kisses to the corners of his eyes when he cries, and letting Keith cling to his body with desperate hands. 

It’s been a long two years. 

Every so often Keith will murmur something in James’s ear that follows him for weeks at a time, niggling at the threads of his sanity until he’s nearly worn down from it. By the time he has nearly reached a breaking point, Keith will find something new to share with him, something new to gnaw through the base of James’s skull. 

It’s hard, yes, but it has been worth it. Two years of learning to love one another through every up and down, and of making sure that Keith knows James has got his back through thick and thin. James wouldn’t trade a moment, or a single sleepless night if it meant that he couldn’t keep this, whatever  _ this _ is. 

It took James almost no time at all to find out that Keith sleeps best with his nose tucked into the space between James’s shoulders, muttering sweet, quiet things into his spine through the haze of exhaustion. Took only a few weeks to learn that Keith’s favorite meals are the cheap, dried packages of ramen that he buys in bulk at the supermarket, smiling over his shoulder when James admonishes him weakly for the purchase. A few months more to realize that Keith loves lazy mornings the best, using the warmth of late morning sunlight filtering in through the Garrison’s threadbare curtains as an excuse to catch up on sleep lost during restless nights. 

It took nearly a year before James could tell Keith “ _ I love you, _ ” with the words muffled into the pillow long after Keith’s eyes have drifted closed for the evening, and another two months, one week, and three days after that before he says it to Keith while he’s awake. Keith responds in kind a few short hours later, the words spoken as a mantra when James splays a hand across his lower back, the other holding tight to Keith’s hips to guide his movements while James pushes inside of him. 

Two years, though, and as good as it’s been, as good as it is, all of the terrors that Keith has experienced, the horrors he has divulged to James keep manifesting in the corners of their room. Keith is quiet when he wakes, mostly. He doesn’t speak much of the dreams that wrest him from sleep nearly every night, or of the demons that haunt him, but when he does, they begin to haunt James as well. 

“You wouldn’t think that all rotting flesh smells the same,” Keith mutters one night when James swipes a stray tear from his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “but it does. Galra, Human, animals, aliens, whatever. It doesn’t matter. It all sits in your throat the same.” 

James just nods lost for words, and buries his face into Keith’s hair, urging him to lay back down. When he wakes the next morning it is to early morning sunlight, the warmth of Keith’s body against his own, and the cloying sweetness of death on his tongue. 

A few months later, Keith presses his fingers into James’s face, a bit too rough, holding a bit too firm to his jaw, temple, the hollow just under his eye. He says nothing for a moment, gaze fixed to James before he speaks, “The Galra would sometimes gouge out prisoners’ eyes.” A low laugh bubbles out of keith, and it’s bordering on something manic, “I saw it on some of my missions with the Blades. You can heal wounds and mend broken bones with quintessence or time, but there’s no way to fix that, once they take your eyes from you. Leave the rest of you intact and whole, but you’ll never see anything ever again.” 

“Keith,” James sighs, reaching up to wrap his hands around Keith’s before pulling them down into his lap, holding them still while he runs a thumb over Keith’s knuckles, “I can see you babe, I’ve got you.” 

“They could have taken your eyes.” 

“They didn’t though, come on,” James tugs him close and lets Keith press his face into the crook of his neck. Keith hiccups, watery and choked into his skin, and James runs his fingers through the Keith’s hair. He tries not to dwell on what the wet squelch of eyes being pried out of someone’s skull would sound like. What kind of noises a person would make if they were conscious during the process.

Days later, James still can’t shake the screams of some imagined being from where they echo in the back of his mind.

On a chilly winter morning, long after the moon has disappeared from the sky and the first rays of morning light are setting the eastern sky aflame in vibrant hues of orange and red, James is awoken by the shaking of Keith’s body where he is tucked into his chest. He is quick to respond, drawing a hand up from under the bedcovers and settling it along the side of Keith’s face, already wet with tears. 

“Hey. Keith,” James murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead, “what’s happening.” 

Keith shakes his head, refusing a response, and squeezes his eyes closed again.

“Talk to me, babe,” James says, shifting his hand so that he can tilt Keith’s face up towards him, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Keith’s eyes flutter open, and he gives one long, slow blink before he’s crushing his lips to James’s, moving his mouth desperately. James lets himself get pulled into it, lets Keith take the lead and push James into the mattress as he clambers atop him, straddled low across his waist.

“I want to forget,” Keith sighs against James’s ear grinding down against him, and the friction sparks something deep at the base of his gut, “don’t make me talk about it when I’d rather forget.” 

James grits his teeth against desire when he feels a stray tear fall from Keith’s face on to his own, and sprawls a hand across Keith’s bare chest, pushing gently until he pulls away with a glare,  “Keith, come on. You can’t run from these things forever.” 

“I’m not running,” Keith grumbles, wiping at the streaky tear tracks that still wind their way down his face, “I’m trying to get you to fuck me until I can’t remember what day it is, let alone how much blood there is when someone gets skewered alive by druid magic.”

That alone is enough for James to let Keith pull him back into another hungry kiss.

This, letting Keith use him as a distraction from his demons, has become a routine in the same way that brushing their teeth together in the morning is, or that attending meals and sitting side by side is. As much as James wishes he could somehow keep Keith safe from the things that follow him into sleep, he can’t. 

He helps where he can, how he can, but sometimes, even two years on, all James can do is let Keith take himself apart while he watches on. Helpless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes ! this is all over the place ! 
> 
> as always, i'd love to hear from you! come visit me on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


	8. jeith - things you said while i cried in your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: I don't know why i want to torture myself with your glorious, glorious angst when i still worry about keith and shiro in 'I got the good side of you.' But, 'things you said while i cried in your arms' for Jeith, please? (Only if you want to, of course!)
> 
> 31\. things you said while i cried in your arms

The decline starts when Rizavi gets taken down on a routine mission. 

A mission just past Mars, chasing down a few rogue Galra that got a bit too close to Earth for the Garrison’s comfort. Two laser cannon shots well-aimed at the plasteel of her cockpit window. The cold vacuum of space. 

James recounts the experience with a hollow gaze and hollow words, and the debrief room is silent, save for his voice and Veronica’s choked-off sobs from the other side of the table.

“The Galra fighters proceeded to open fire on the immobilized MFE,” James shudders, blinks once, and grits his teeth, “we were unable to recover Officer Rizavi’s body before they destroyed the ship entirely.” 

“You didn’t even try,” Veronica hisses across the table, pushing herself up from where she’s been slouched low, “you didn’t care about her at all!”

“Officer McClain!” Commander Holt reaches a hand up from his position beside her, resting it on her upper arm.

“I’m sorry Veronica,” James murmurs, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes until little blooms of white light erupt in the darkness, “I’m so sorry, but we weren’t prepared. We were severely outnumbered, and we tried our best, but I don’t know what else I could have done.” 

“You’re a fucking liar,” She spits, venom dripping from her words, and she reaches up to scrub at the tears on her face before pointing an accusing finger at James, “ A liar, and a  _ coward _ , Griffin. You’re a worthless fucking excuse for--” 

“Veronica!” Iverson speaks up now from the head of the table, hands balled into fists on the cold steel in front of him. His words are firm, menacing enough that she falls silent under his gaze, “that is  _ enough _ .”

The rest of the report proceeds without incident. Veronica falls into a fit of quiet tears, sobs muffled into the sleeve of her uniform jacket. The rest of the MFE Pilots recount the event in their own words, each the same. 

“Too many Galra ships.” 

“None of us stood a chance. I’m surprised they only got Nadia.”

“It was horrible. I’d almost forgotten how ruthless the Galra can be.” 

Keith watches on silently, gaze affixed to the side of James’s head while he stares blankly at the wall, somewhere just over Shiro’s head. His eyes keep shooting over to the door, expectant, almost as if he were waiting for someone, and Keith chooses not to read too much into that. 

*****

James wakes him up later that evening with his name hissed into the darkness. 

“Keith,” he shakes Keith’s shoulder violently enough to pull him from sleep almost immediately, “Keith, please.” 

Keith hums, and rolls over to where James is propped up in bed, fear scrawled across his face, “what?” 

“It’s Rizavi,” He sucks a shaky breath in through his teeth, and points at a spot behind Keith. He shakes his head, but James nudges him again, urging him to look. 

Keith cranes his head over his shoulder, to an empty space, “There’s nothing there, James.” 

James shakes his head a bit, and Keith reaches for his hand, pulling him close to press their foreheads together. He watches, silently, until James’s eyes drift shut, and he falls into a restless sleep. 

*****

It gets worse.

James sees Rizavi in every dim corner of the Garrison, in broad daylight, in his and Keith’s bedroom, but it’s not  _ just _ Rizavi. Before long a roll call of the dead manifest before him. 

A young cadet identified only as ‘Will’ that James stops Keith mid-kiss to try and speak to. Kinkade later explains to Keith in hushed tones that Will Samuelson was James’s boyfriend, lost in the first couple of months of the Galra occupation. 

Other cadets, officers, friends and family members alike emerge to follow him through crowded hallways. James tells Keith about each of them, words haunted by fear. 

Keith breaks when James’s mother appears across from him in the canteen one morning, and James shouts something that is indecipherable through the tears that pour over when he sees her. The entire cafeteria falls silent, watches on while James babbles incoherently for a moment before Keith hauls him to his feet, and guides him out with his hand pressed to the small of James’s back, mouth tucked in close to his ear, and murmuring low.

James follows Keith back to their room, eyes resolutely fixed on to the floor in front of him while he walks, footsteps heavy as they echo off the walls. He lets Keith push him down on to the sofa in their living room with a hand gripped firm on his shoulder. 

“You’re not okay.”

“No,” James nods, “but they’re everywhere, Keith.”

Keith appraises him a moment, and sinks to his knees in front of James, who spreads his legs to accommodate Keith’s presense there. “Talk to me,” Keith sighs, rubbing a thumb against James’s hipbone, “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Babe,” Keith is quiet when he speaks, leaning to rest his head against James’s knee. He leaves it at that. Doesn’t push. Knows better than to do so. 

James reaches a hand out, runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, pushing his bangs back from his forehead, and murmurs, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Keith presses his lips to the inside of James’s knee, and tangles his fingers with James’s own. He leans back, and tugs on James’s hand once, twice, three times to try to pull him down onto the floor. 

It takes James a moment, but he slides himself down from the couch, and settles himself so that the two of them are face to face chest to chest, with his legs straddled across Keith’s lap. 

Keith reaches up to thumb at where tears are gathering in the corner of James’s eyes. He’s resigned when he speaks, “James, you can’t keep this up forever.”

James crumbles at that, wraps his arms around Keith, and presses his face into the crook of Keith’s neck. His fingers dig into a spot between Keith’s shoulderblades, pressing a bit too hard into the knob of his spine. Keith doesn’t protest, instead he just wraps one hand around the back of James’s neck, pulling him closer. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Keith can barely make out the words that James is speaking where they’re muffled into the skin of his neck, made wet by the tears that James is trying to hide there, “I just want them to go away. I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” Keith presses kiss after kiss into James’s hair, “you don’t have to be, though. You’ll make it through this.” 

James shudders with a sob, and Keith sprawls a hand lows across his back to pull him as close as he can. James repeats his mantra again and again--”I’m sorry.”

Keith’s words are gentle when he speaks, lips pressed to the crown of James’s head. 

“We’ll make it through this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in a row of almost identical jeith angst, on my fic? more likely than you'd think ! 
> 
> i'd love to hear from you any time! come visit me on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) and drag me for not writing fluff in approximately ten years


	9. sheith - things you said when you asked me to marry you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Sheith + 42?
> 
> 42\. things you said when you asked me to marry you
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: FLUFF, HUMOR, TACO BELL

Shiro has been planning for months, bordering on the better part of a year now. Days, and weeks, and what sometimes feels like a  _ lifetime _ of brainstorming, scribbling ideas into a ragged notebook shoved into the drawer in his bedside table, and trying to figure out how to pop the all-important question: ‘will you marry me?’ 

All that Shiro is missing is a ring. 

For what it’s worth, he knows that Keith doesn’t need it, wouldn’t ask for one, might not even wear it, but something deep inside of Shiro is itching to do this right, and the hunt for the ring takes far longer than Shiro would have expected.  

On a late afternoon he takes Keith’s favorite gloves, the leather worn soft from use, to a jeweler, holds them out and asks, “are you able to find the ring size from these?” 

The jeweler huffs, grabs his sizing tool, and relays the size to Shiro, who jots it down in his phone’s notes section. Aside from that, he is little help, weakly holding out rings that are far too ostentatious for Keith, dripping with diamonds and sapphires. The second Jeweler that Shiro visits is closer, offering him rings that are modern, smooth, but still don’t feel  _ right _ . Shiro finds himself, instead, scrolling through page after page on the internet long after Keith has fallen asleep. He holds his phone just inches from his face in the hopes that, if Keith does wake up, he won’t see the screen. 

It takes weeks more of hunting before Shiro finds  _ The One _ . It’s simple, a sleek titanium band inlaid with a dark, almost red petrified wood. Shiro’s heart aches for a moment, reminded of a weekend trip to the Petrified Forest. Shiro stood by as Keith photographed each log, enthusiastically explaining the process of fossilization to Shiro, and pulling him in for little kisses at random. Grinning mouth pressed to Shiro’s under a bright, hot desert sun, it was the first time that Keith said, “I love you.” 

Shiro puts the item in his online shopping cart and presses the little ‘confirm purchase’ button in the blink of an eye. 

Another month passes before Shiro has the plan set--a romantic visit to a small desert oasis, under the guise of a weekend trip for Shiro’s birthday. Just the two of them and a little adobe cottage alongside a small river somewhere just far enough away that no one can find them. Shiro will take Keith out along the banks of the river after dark, he’ll open a bottle of wine, and at some point, in the cool night air under a blanket of stars, he’ll ask Keith if they can live the rest of their lives together. 

*****

They leave after work on a Thursday, with a cooler full of food and a couple of weekend bags tossed into the bed of Keith’s old pickup truck. It’s a long drive to the other side of the state, and the two of them pass the time by sharing conversation and a thermos of coffee long after the sun has set. 

“This isn’t coffee,” Shiro chides after the first sip. It’s creamy, sugary sweet just the way Keith likes it, and it coats Shiro’s mouth like candy. Keith hums, but his eyes are fixed to the road in front of him, and he peels one hand from the steering wheel, holding it out expectantly for the thermos as he wiggles his fingers. Shiro considers it for a moment, and places his own hand in Keith’s instead, and tangles their fingers together. 

Keith is quiet, but he looks over at Shiro for a moment before turning back to the road, and pulls their intertwined hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of Shiro’s hand. 

“I love you,” Keith says, matter-of-fact, and Shiro let’s a little smile tug at the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you, too.” 

*****

It is just past two in the morning when they stop to get gas, go to the bathroom, and find a bite to eat. The gas station they choose has a 24-hour Taco Bell affixed to it, and Keith bounces across the lobby, far too chipper for the late hour, and orders an armful of food which Shiro dutifully carries out to the car for him. 

“We’ve got a bunch of options,” Keith explains, tearing the bag open to spread the paper-wrapped items across the truck’s console, “there’s a Crunchwrap, and—”

“Can I have that?” Shiro interrupts him, but flushes a deep scarlet, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off.” 

Keith hesitates for only a moment before he’s holding it out in offering to Shiro, “yeah, of course.” 

Shiro accepts it, and watches as Keith resigns himself to the two skinny beef and cheese burritos that remain. 

They eat in amiable silence in the gas station parking lot, exchanging contented sighs and little glances. Keith finishes his own food quickly, and Shiro takes note of the way that his gaze lingers on the food in his hand for a bit too long. 

“Do you want the rest of this?” Shiro asks, holding out the remaining two-thirds of his Crunchwrap Supreme to Keith, who has been eyeing it hungrily for the last five minutes. 

“Oh my god,” Keith takes it happily from Shiro’s hands, shoves half of it into his mouth in a single bite, and moans almost obscenely around his mouthful of gooey cheese, “please fucking marry me.” 

“What?” Shiro’s heart skips a beat, and he freezes, dumbstruck.

Keith swallows down his bite, and levels him with an appraising look before he speaks again. “Here,” he holds the demolished Crunchwrap out to Shiro, who takes it gingerly from him, “hold this for a second.” 

Keith throws himself across the console of the car, sprawling himself out across Shiro’s lap to get to the glovebox. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks, but Keith just ignores him, popping open the glovebox, and fumbling around in the dark for a moment, “Keith?” 

“Hang  _ on _ ,” Keith hisses, before he’s clambering back upright in his seat, and holding out a tiny box in offering. 

Shiro’s breath catches behind his tongue, and when he speaks it’s barely above a whisper, “Keith.” 

“Shiro,” Keith begins, and there’s a little waver in his voice, “I’d planned on doing this right, but I guess that sometimes, life just kind of gets in the way. I want to say thanks for sharing shitty Taco Bell with me at two in the morning, and for not judging me for loving it. Thank you for being my best friend, and thank you for being someone I felt like I could love--for being someone I  _ do _ love. Thank you for loving me, too.” 

“I--”

Keith shakes his head at Shiro, takes a deep breath, rubs the back of his hand across his forehead, and presses on, “I want to keep loving you forever, Shiro, if you’ll have me. I want to marry you.” 

Shiro is quiet, motionless when Keith opens the little black box to reveal a silver band, clean and simple. He opens his mouth to respond but all that leaves him is a sharp puff of air instead.

Keith is looking at him hopefully, expectantly, and with each moment that passes the silence that passes between them grows heavier. 

“Nevermind,” Keith mumbles, closing the ring box, “I’m sorry.” 

Shiro is too loud when he speaks again, “No!” 

“No,” Keith wilts, shoves the ring into his back pocket, and wipes at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. Shiro’s brain kicks into overdrive all at once and in an instant he’s reaching across the car to grab at the hem of Keith’s shirt. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith is muttering, eyes shooting frantically around the car, trying to look anywhere but at Shiro, “it was stupid, anyway.” 

Shiro doesn’t realize he’s crying, too, until he tries to speak and it comes out choked and watery, “Keith, hang on. I was gonna ask  _ you _ to marry  _ me. _ ” 

Keith’s gaze finally settles on Shiro, and Shiro’s hand moves to where the ring tucked safely into an interior jacket pocket. Where it feels like it’s burning a hole through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and pulls it out to show Keith. 

“You--wait, what?” Keith’s rubbing at his face again, “you want to marry me?” 

“Of course I want to marry you,” Shiro starts to laugh, ignoring the tears that are still running tracks down his face, “Keith, I’ve never loved anyone or anything as much as I love you. Nothing I’ve ever done has made me feel like being with you makes me feel. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, of course I want--” 

Keith’s mouth crushed against his own cuts him off, and Shiro lets himself melt into it when Keith’s hand curls around the nape of his neck. 

When they part, it’s with a little giggle, and Keith says simply, “I’ll marry you if you’ll marry me.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro smiles, swiping his thumb across Keith’s lower lip, “I’d love to.” 

Keith pulls him back in, presses their foreheads together, and lets his eyes flutter shut, content. Shiro watches him for a minute before finding the discarded, half-eaten Crunchwrap on the console between them, and holding it up. 

“Did you wanna finish this?” 

Keith’s eyes snap open, and he grins, “fuck, I love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never even had taco bell 
> 
> come drag for that on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) any time thanks


	10. sheith - things you said that made me feel like shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hnamvs asked: 10.. sheith >:)
> 
> 10\. things you said that made me feel like shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry idk what u wanted hannah but they're in love and never hurt each other's feelings so this is a MESStm

Shiro wakes the morning of the Kerberos launch to a cold bed, and a cold nose pressed against his pillow. His body is stiff, overworked and tense from the stress that has dogged him relentlessly for the last six months. Anxiety has lurked in the dark ends of hallways, behind doors, and it shadows each word spoken to him, spoken near him in hushed tones. It nestles deep into the back of his skull, crawling torturously slow down his spine. 

A constant refrain of “you aren’t good enough.”

Keith has stood by him, though, told him he’s enough, that he is  _ more _ . Keith is with him through the physical exams, checked and unchecked boxes alike. He elbows Shiro in the ribs, tells him to pull himself together, and teaches him to look at the world through defiant eyes. He’s a ball of fire, driven in equal parts by his own rage, the fuel of others’ scorn, and oxygen. When Shiro is told that he can’t, Keith tells him he can with balled fists and a hard set to his shoulders. 

Sometimes Keith looks at Shiro as though he hung the moon, and a part of Shiro wants to do just that. He wants to bring Kerberos back with him and set it in the sky alongside Earth’s own moon, just so that Keith can marvel at it through the same wide eyes he looks at Shiro with.

An alarm sounds again beside his head, and Shiro forces himself up until he is perched on the edge of the mattress, hunched over himself while he rubs at his face with a tired hand. Early morning light peeks in from where the curtains are drawn over the window, illuminating the little specks of dust that float through the narrow beams. 

He looks at the comm tablet in his hand, sees a message from Keith delivered nearly an hour ago that reads simply, ‘ _ breakfast? _ ’ 

A smile tugs at the corner of Shiro’s mouth, and he taps out a quick ‘ _ yeah _ .’ 

He dresses slowly, and is still trying to scrub sleep from his vision when he meets a bright-eyed Keith in the corner of the mess hall. He bounces onto the balls of his feet and grins up at Shiro when he sees him, waving excitedly. 

“Your uniform needs to be pressed, cadet,” Shiro scolds, tugging on the edge of Keith’s collar where it’s creased and wrinkled, and fighting back the smile that threatens to curl across his face at Keith’s affronted glare. 

“Good morning to you, too,” he grumbles, but reaches out to pull at a chunk of hair that has fallen into Shiro’s line of sight, “your hair is too long for regulation, officer.” 

“They can’t make me cut it when I’m on Kerberos,” Shiro laughs, ruffling his hand across Keith’s head, “I might as well get a head start.” 

Keith freezes under his touch for a moment, brows knitting together in thought before he snaps back into action, turning to face the cafeteria line and marching dutifully away.

 

*****

 

After breakfast, Keith follows Shiro to the launchpad, marvelling at where the ship--his ship--sits in wait. Tall, proud, gleaming in the sunlight, Shiro doesn’t miss the little hitch in Keith’s breath when he sees it.

“Wow,” he sighs, and Shiro looks over to him. Keith is standing slack-jawed, hand held up to block the sun from his eyes, and he is beaming when he turns to face Shiro.

“You’ve seen it before,” Shiro smiles back reaching out to settle his palm between Keith’s shoulder blades, “It’s been sitting here for months.” 

“Never like this, though,” Keith murmurs, looking back to the ship and leaning into Shiro’s touch, “It’s so close.” 

Shiro breathes, “yeah. We’re close.” 

A beat of silence passes, and Keith says something under his breath, so quiet that Shiro almost doesn’t hear it. “I don’t want you to go.” 

It’s so small, so broken in the way his voice cracks at the end of the statement that it punches a hole straight through Shiro’s chest. He fists his hand in the back of Keith’s uniform, and tugs him in close for a hug, “Keith, what’s going on?” 

Keith buries his face into the front of Shiro’s jacket, gripping tightly to the loose fabric near his waist, “I don’t want you to go, Shiro.” 

“Hey,” Shiro’s free hand pushes through where Keith’s hair is longest at the back of his head, “talk to me.” 

Keith shakes his head, still tucked into Shiro’s chest, and mutters something that Shiro can’t make out. 

“Keith?” 

“I just,” Keith looks up at him through watery eyes, before pressing his forehead against Shiro’s sternum, “I love you, Shiro. I don’t want you to go.” 

“I love you too, bud,” Shiro chuckles. 

Again, Keith shakes his head, and murmurs in a quiet voice, “no. _I_ _love you_.” 

Shiro’s fingers still in Keith’s hair, pressed into his scalp, “Keith, you’re just a kid.” 

He tenses under Shiro’s touch, and jerks away from his grasp, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. Somehow, that manages to fill Shiro with a new kind of guilt, and he reaches back out, but Keith just takes another step away, and hiccups, “yeah, sorry. Just a kid.” 

 

*****

 

Keith watches the sky for nearly a year after the Kerberos mission fails—keeps his eyes fixed to the stars, and waits. The desert shack is small, dusty, kept warm only by the heat trapped in the foundation after a long day in the sun. His walls are sparsely decorated, save for the sprawl in the living room, where maps and notes are plastered up alongside little copies of Shiro’s official headshot from the Garrison. It’s the one they took for the press release announcing him as the pilot of the Kerberos mission. 

It’s the one they used to announce pilot error. 

It was never pilot error, though, and this is something Keith  _ knows _ . He has read the official reports, pilfered from Iverson’s office before his departure from the Garrison. Has flipped back and forth between pages until they’ve become little more than tattered pieces of paper held loosely in a manila folder stamped with the word ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ in bold, red ink. The official cause of the Kerberos crew’s disappearance is marked ‘ _ unknown.’ _

So Keith holds onto hope, does what he can to try and trace the crew, fights tooth and nail through sleepless nights spent scouring the desert for  _ something _ that calls to him. 

An unidentified shuttle crashes just miles from the Garrison long after dark one evening and that  _ something _ calls again. It’s louder, angrier, more assertive than ever before and Keith follows without hesitation. It leads him to an outbuilding of the Garrison, and he sees someone--unconscious, dead, he can’t tell--being carted inside. 

Keith hesitates for only a brief moment before he bolts into action, pushing his way through the doors of the facility. When he reaches the person strapped to the table, he reaches out to cup their chin, and jolts back at what he sees. They are familiar, but new, a white tuft of hair falling in front of their eyes, and half-obscuring a scar across the bridge of his nose. 

_ “Keith, you’re just a kid,”  _ echoes in the back of his head, but he quashes it down with ease. 

He breathes, warmth washing through him, “Shiro.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) sometime!


End file.
